


Rain

by Nexu (Cirvihi)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: "Ugh you disgust me" to lovers, A lot of other characters make brief appearances, Because Brendol Hux :/, Bloodline Era, But perhaps they're not irredeemable either, Kylo Amidala, M/M, Not so much Enemies to lovers as, Senator Armitage Hux, Senator Kylo Amidala, Space Politics, They're not 'good' people, mentions of physical abuse, senator au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirvihi/pseuds/Nexu
Summary: In a universe where Brendol Hux and his bastard son never escape to the Unknown Regions, Armitage Hux serves as Senator to Arkanis. Monitored closely by his father and the remnant group of the Empire he serves, Armitage is assigned to shadow junior Senator Kylo Amidala.What starts as disdain for the man quickly becomes something all-together different, as he learns just how alike they really are, and how much they have to gain from one another's company.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PangolinPirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PangolinPirate/gifts).



> Written as a Secret Santa gift for the lovely [PangolinPirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PangolinPirate/pseuds/PangolinPirate)! I hope you like it, friend! <3  
> This fic (and one scene in particular) is based off of some lovely artwork of hers of Senator Hux smooching on his colleague than can be found (and appreciated!) [here](https://twitter.com/PangolinPirate/status/1242266448543666177)!
> 
> I do something a liiiiittle weird with their names in here but, uh, hopefully it works out?  
> (Also there is no beta, I die sword-in-hand, Valhalla awaits!)

Since he was a small boy, Armitage Hux has been alone.

Even now, in a room full of people, his father Brendol among them, he knows this to be true.

It hadn't always been this way. For a few years there was his mother, the other kitchen staff, local vendors on the wharf. People who weren't necessarily connected to him by blood, but felt more like family to him than his father ever could.

And then came the New Republic and their bombs, and an evacuation order that came too late. Much too late.

For a while there was Rae Sloane, but now she too, was gone.

But he can't dwell on that now.

“Kylo Amidala,” his father says with gravitas from the head of the table. The years have not been kind to Brendol Hux, something that Armitage Hux takes some modicum of delight in. He can no longer be described as handsome, conventionally or unconventionally. His hair is thinning and losing its color, his face is too-quick to jump with drunken-anger, his eyes are dulled and colorless.

His father taps a button, summoning a projection of the man in question to the center of the table. Hux watches it flicker to life. The man is large, though any man would appear so next to Leia Organa. The holo shows them conversing with one another, the petite Senator Organa walking beside Amidala in some nondescript hallway.

Hux notes Amidala's features. They're prominent, easily recognizable. A large nose, eyes rather high on his face, dark, shoulder-length hair that frames his profile not-unpleasantly and attemptes unsuccessfully to hide the large ears that jet from the side of his head.

All-in-all, he cuts a strangely handsome figure.

Beside his father, Enric Pryde's pinched face becomes even more severe. “Is he really going by that ridiculous name?”

“Styling himself after his dead grandmother proved an effective tactic for Organa's son. The people of Naboo will not soon forget Padmé Amidala,” Lady Carise Sindian says to Hux's right. “It was really all he needed to help secure his vote over Bereneko.”

In the hologram, the mother-son pair have stopped their walk, and appear to be discussing something comical. Hux watches Amidala throw his head back and laugh.

“Supreme Leader Snoke has a vested interest in this development,” Brendol says with a grunt, snapping Hux out of his reverie.

Snoke. Just the name sends an invisible shiver running up his spine, like so many insects poking their needle-like legs into his back. Hux has only met the mysterious man that heads First Order a few times, and none of them were pleasant.

Many considered the tales of the Force and those that could wield it (like the Emperor and Vader) to be nothing but myth, but Hux knows there is a grain of truth there; because of Snoke. He's seen it, felt it, the gray, spider-web like vice-grip attempting to probe his mind, watched constituents of his father's be slammed against the wall like sacks of meat.

(“ _Congratulations on your victory, my boy_ ,” the cold voice had said out loud and in his mind. “ _You will do great things for the Galaxy as Senator of Arkanis_.”)

“We need to develop relations with Amidala, get close to him. Supreme Leader Snoke wishes Naboo to ally itself with the Senate Seat of the First Order,” Brendol says, looking toward Lady Carise. “Unlike his wretched mother he is a Centrist, which will make this task easier. All reports indicate he also lives a lavish lifestyle. I trust you will be up to the task, Lady Carise?”

Before she can reply, Pryde clears his throat, interjecting.

“Brendol. If I may.”

Pryde levels his gaze at Hux, who feels his chest sink into his stomach.

“I think a better option would be your son. Foolish Amidala may seem, we cannot forget where he comes from,” Pryde begins. “I believe it would serve us better to have someone one step removed from us attempt to establish relations. After all, would a Naboo-Arkanis alliance not be beneficial if we wish to re-establish the Academy? Besides,” he adds sneering down his nose at Hux, “your son plays his job well. He's good at that, if nothing else.”

Brendol is staring at him intently, dull eyes boring holes straight through him. Hux knows he's already made up his mind. His father loves keeping him on a short leash. Yanking it, choking him.

“You are to report to me after every meeting with him. The same day if possible.”

All eyes are on him. Hux nods, politely, curtly. “Of course, General.”

“And stay on your guard, boy. He is capable of sorcery, like his damnable mother and her ignoble brother.”

* * *

Hux immediately despises Kylo Amidala.

Everything about him screams decadence, overindulgence, the very things that has made the New Republic such a despicably corrupt force that leaves its people to suffer.

The garment the man is wearing is far and above what is considered appropriate attire for one of his station; one that is so newly appointed no-less. He prances about the gala in dress-robes of gold and red embroidered with gemstones that glisten in the light. Delicate gold lace runs up his arms, several rings adorn his fingers, and to top it off, he even has the audacity to weave _more_ gemstones into his _hair_ : an intricately braided style that culminates in a bun and frames his face with two braids.

Hux sneers as he watches the man laugh flirtatiously at some Nabooan dignitary who has made their way over to congratulate the young Senator. Of course a man like him would win the election for Naboo's seat. How could he not? Hux regards the interior of the sprawling family estate the gala takes place in with no small amount of disdain.

The humans of Naboo value affluence and so-called 'high culture' over everything else. The Gungans, at least, have humility.

Hux does his best to hold in a grimace as the man catches his eyes and makes his way over to him. _Sashays_ really, as if to show off every inch of his garish outfit and mock him.

“Senator Hux, I presume?” the man asks in a deep rumble that is at odds with everything but his stature and severe face. Said visage is decorated lightly in Nabooan circles and arches in shades just slightly darker than his skin tone. A far-cry from the makeup Padmé Amidala wore during her time as queen, but it is there none-the-less.

“You presume correctly,” Hux answers, perhaps a little too stiffly. He extends the hand not holding his wine for a cordial shake. “Congratulations on your victory, Senator Amidala.”

The man smirks-actually _smirks_ -at Hux and takes his hand in his own, before bringing it carefully to his lips and placing a delicate kiss upon his gloved knuckles. “Thank you, Senator Hux. It is good to make your acquaintance.”

Hux takes his hand back carefully, trying to not recoil as if stung. The other man laughs-a roll of thunder that comes from the depths of his chest-and finally holds his own hand out in turn. “I had expected you had been told we did things differently here. I hope that wasn't too much for your Arkanisian sensibilities. Don't worry, I don't expect you to return the favor, Senator.”

“A bit more forward than I expected, admittedly,” Hux bites back, observing the man's extended hand like it is a trap. His fingernails-impeccably manicured, painted red with intricate gold patterns crossing atop-are at odds with the absolute monstrous width and length of his hands. After discerning the improbability of this being another social trap, Hux takes his hand firmly, and shakes it.

“You know,” Amidala says ( _purrs_ practically, after taking _entirely_ too long to let go of Hux's hand), “I must say, aside from the formalities, it really _is_ nice to make your acquaintance.” There's a crafty gleam in his eye. “I've heard so much about the young Senator from Arkanis. I feel as if we could benefit to get to know one another better.”

“I couldn't agree more, but must inquire as to the nature of the things you've heard,” Hux responds, a controlled shiver running down his spine.

The adorned man chuckles and takes a sip of his wine. “Oh, nothing of the scandalous sort, I assure you. Just that you were ambitious, with the best interest of his people in mind, and a keen interest in academics. Admittedly, the people of Naboo are more focused on the areas of arts, but we by no means spurn the hard sciences, and I'm sure with Arkanis looking to rebuild its-”

Hux is only half-listening, having now realized that the shiver is _still present_ , and has since traveled up his back in a caress to swirl around his head like a cold compress. He envisions it as a sort of silvery liquid, silk-like, dipping in and out of his mind as he focuses here and there on Amidala's words, thinks on one thing and the next. He feels it strongest when when he thinks on the other's Senator's voice, his stature, the way he can't stop looking at his pfasking hair. Hux knows the feeling shouldn't be there, but can't quite remember why.

( _“He is capable of sorcery, like his damnable mother and her ignoble brother.”_ )

Like water spilled from a pitcher it dissipates rapidly and without warning, and Hux is left staring at Kylo Amidala, who, for the briefest of moments, looks as dumbstruck as Hux must feel. But he's soon regained his poise, and cuts his talk short.

“Well, it appears you've started to tune out our conversation. Did they not tell you that our spiced wine is a bit on the strong side as well?” he asks with a wink towards Hux's empty cup. Before he can defend himself, the man waves him a way with a graceful gesture that belies his anatomy. “It's no bother, really! Enjoy yourself, Senator! After all, I have many others to greet.”

He turns to leave, throwing a parting glance over his shoulder. “I look forward to our next meeting, Senator Hux,” Kylo Amidala smirks, and glides away.

* * *

They're attending a Senate luncheon on Riosa when next their paths cross.

Amidala is, blessedly, alone in a corner, sitting cross-legged in a chair and sampling some Riosan liqueur. Hux hardly recognizes him at first, his Senatorial robes seemingly plain compared to the ones he last saw him in. Hux spares little but the barest of pleasantries with others before crossing the room to confront the man.

“Keep your wizardry to yourself.”

Amidala doesn't do what Hux expects: ask what he means, play the innocent, try and cause a scene. No, instead he smiles, a close-lipped grin that says he knows something, and says:

“It's interesting, Senator Hux. Everyone in the Senate has their little secrets...and yet. Not many know of the power my family has. Fewer still know of my uncle. Which makes me wonder who the man I heard was, and where he got his information from. Your father, I presume?” he asks, in a tone that says he knows he's correct.

Hux's veins are ice. “And what of it, Senator?” he asks, voice lowering instinctively. No one else seems to be listening in on their little conversation, but he can't be too careful. “After all, you said it yourself: everyone here has their little secrets.”

The other man chuckles in that low rumble that catches Hux off-guard, and makes a motion as if to wave him off. He leans back in the chair, relaxing, kicking out his long legs but recrossing them to maintain some semblance of formality. “Don't worry yourself, Senator Hux. I'm not a rumor-monger. And I could stand to be kept on my toes now and then.” He raises his glass towards Hux in some mockery of a toast and takes a sip before continuing “It really wouldn't benefit anyone for me to make your knowledge of this widely available. And it's an open secret the influence your father, and the Empire remnants at large, have on the Senate seat of Arkanis.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hux spits, bristling in a way his father would no doubt accuse of being unbecoming. This _does_ draw attention to the pair of them, several pairs of eyes glancing their direction. Ransolm Casterfo, Leia Organa, and Lady Carise Sindian among them.

Amidala waves them off, announcing loudly “My apologies. Senator Hux does not appreciate my brand of humor.”

Most accept this explanation, and the conversation around them quickly returns to normal. Across the room, Carise Sindian gives Hux a tight-lipped smile, as if to remind him of his need to get close to the newly appointed Senator.

When he turns back to Amidala the man is smiling, and gives a slight nod in Carise's direction. “Am I wrong, then? I didn't mean that as a slight. I don't envy you. And I suspect you've been sent to get as close to me as possible.”

Hux purses his lips, and settles in a chair across from Amidala. “Suppose you were right then. As you've said, it really doesn't benefit either of us to make our knowledge public. What do you suggest?”

Amidala flashes a genuine, toothy grin then. “Why, Senator, I'm flattered you're willing to hear me out!” he says in a pantomime of gratitude. “I propose this: We actually _do_ foster relations between our planets-for our own benefits. But no reason for your daddy dearest and his friends to know that. You can tell him whatever makes him happy, and I'll play the part of an ignorant noble. How does that sound?”

And Hux has to admit-that does sound pretty good.

It's a mostly beneficial relationship. There are ups and downs. Here-an argument against the position of First Senator (both opposing, but for vastly different reasons), there-a private meeting to set up a trade accord between Naboo and Arkanis.

He learns things about the man.

Things that have nothing to do with his politics. Like the fact that he made the robes he wore at their first meet-makes a lot of his clothes, in fact. That he practices calligraphy, makes beautiful, hand-written letters where others send digital correspondences. That while he is in no way controlled in the was Hux is, there is a strain between him and his family too, a darkness that caused him to abandon his uncle and the training he offered.

Unexpectedly, Hux begins to find himself looking forward to meeting with Amidala, even if it inevitably means rendezvousing with his father soon after. Kylo Amidala is interesting, if nothing else, and strangely Hux is starting to find his company preferable to that of even his staunchest of allies.

So it goes for many months.

* * *

The storm breaks when he's goaded by his father to host several of his fellow Senators planet-side.

Hux can't deny that his father, for once, makes a fair point. Arkanis has made many great strides to rebuild itself and get in the New Republic's good graces since its official 'liberation' from the Empire. And with its ties to the (supposedly) demilitarized remnant faction, the First Order, many of his Senatorial colleagues are hesitant to trust Hux, despite his way with words.

It's shortly after dinner (a tiring affair) when Hux finds Amidala alone on the balcony.

“Senator Amidala,” he greets.

Amidala turns, his face awash in the light of Arkanis's dual moons. His makeup is simpler this time: a bit of blush, twin dark tears under each eye. He's traded the crimson he usually wears for teal, a light-colored overcoat on top of a gold dress-shirt, and a matching sash that hugs his hips pleasantly.

He smiles warmly in greeting. “Just Kylo, please. I feel like you've earned that by now.”

A warmth settles in Hux's chest.

“I'm surprised you're not inside, making yourself the center of attention,” Hux replies, ignoring the feeling and Kylo's comment, and joining the other man at the rail.

Kylo smirks in reply, and now they're back on more familiar ground. Or so he thinks. “Honestly, it's exhausting,” the other man begins. “Playing pretend, all of the time. Playing,” he stops, his throat bobbing up and down with effort as he struggles to find his words. Behind them, storm-clouds cover the moons.

“Happy. Put-together,” he says finally, gripping the rail behind him tightly. He looks at Hux from beneath his bangs. “Do you understand?”

Hux breathes in, a shuddering breath. Behind him, the sky rumbles. “I believe I do,” he responds.

Kylo nods, as if he expected that answer, and turns around to gaze out over the forest and the coast far far in the distance. Slowly he says:

“My uncle. He trained me in the ways of the Force. The 'wizardry' as you call it,” he says with a small laugh. His demeanor is anything but cheerful.

“While he was training me I heard a voice. And it told me things. Told me that my uncle, that my mother, that everyone around me had lied to me since birth. That I was destined for something greater. That I was squandering my potential training as some pfasking monk on a back-water planet that almost no one knew existed. That I had a power, a real, genuine power, and it could help me unlock it.”

Kylo's hands grip the railing with startling strength, knuckles turning white. “And it scared me, because part of me-a _large_ part of me-wanted that power. To be recognized. To stop being so invisible, as I had been since I was _born_. Maybe then I wouldn't have to feel so alone. But. But I thought I was just crazy.”

There's another rumble of thunder, and Kylo lets go of the railing.

“But then my uncle. He looked in my head one day. And he heard it too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hux asks, voice fragile, quiet.

Kylo looks at him, really _looks_ at him, in a way that feels meaningful. “I don't know, really. I've grown to trust you I suppose.”

There is a silence then. It is not uncomfortable. Hux realizes that Kylo is closer to him than they've ever been before, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder as they lean against the railing.

“I've been alone since my mother died,” he says, breaking the quiet.

Kylo looks to him, eyes soft, waiting for him to continue.

“She died in the bombings,” he says, trying, and failing, to keep anger and grief from coloring his voice. “My father and I were to be evacuated but, well. That came too late,” he says, bitterly. “Not that it matters. We survived. But my mother-she was never even considered.” He pauses, before adding, “I guess it's not quite true. That I was alone that entire time. Admiral Rae Sloane was almost like a mother to me. But she's gone now, too” he says with finality.

“I'm sorry, Hux,” Kylo says, voice hoarse and empathetic.

“It's quite alright. And Armitage, please,” he replies.

“Armitage,” Kylo corrects with a small smile. It is so unlike how his father says it-in fact, he rather likes hearing it come from the other man's mouth; it turns the warm feeling in his chest into a blaze.

Abruptly, above them, the sky opens up.

Kylo looks up, blinking, and laughs, shaking his head. Drops of rain scatter from his mop of dark hair.

“Best get out of this rain. Face paint will run, and we can't have that.”

Armitage licks his lips and notes that they feel very dry, despite the weather. “No, we can't. Can we.” He does not say it like a question.

“You know,” Kylo murmurs. “There's a superstition on Naboo. Involving rain,” With his his mane of hair quickly becoming plastered to his face it is easier to appreciate his eyes. They're sepia in color-like skipping stones that line river bottoms-and are roving up and down Armitage's body, appraising every inch.

Armitage doesn't suppress his shudder, feeling the full-body shiver perhaps even excusable given the rain. “Oh?”

Kylo nods, and reaches for Armitage's right hand without ceremony. And while the correct thing to do, what _Brendol_ would wish him to do would be to rebuff his colleague's gesture, he lets him take it between his larger palms with no protest.

His hands are warm.

“Yes,” Kylo says simply, turning Armitage's hand to the side. He buttons the cuff that Armitage had failed to notice had come undone. “It's said that first kisses sealed under rain are blessed to lead to good things. True happiness.” He turns Armitage's hand back over but does not let it go.

Armitage laughs and Kylo looks back at him. It's a genuine laugh, and a ridiculous sound, he thinks. “That's funny,” he says, and means it. “There's an old fisherwives' tale from the port that's very similar.” He holds his breath. Waits. He's not sure what for.

“Oh?” Kylo pants, fluttering his lashes. They're long, beautiful. Like every damn part of him. Armitage watches drops of rain roll off of them.

“Yes,” Armitage responds, quietly. “A kiss under a raging storm is a promise, of new beginnings, of bonds built to last a lifetime.” He pauses, chuckles. “A superstition-that's all it is.”

Malachite meets Sepia. Kylo quirks his mouth in that coquettish grin that Armitage is finding rapidly less annoying. “So, you don't believe it?”

He's quick to answer, much quicker than he needs to be. “I don't tend to prescribe to such nonsense, especially when it has never been subjected to rigorous scientific investigation.”

Silence. In the distance, a flash of lightning. Its proud roar answers many seconds later. Armitage thinks for the briefest of moments that he can feel its heat, but no: it's Kylo's breath that warms his face. He doesn't know know when he's drifted closer.

Long arms roam, seeking the small of Armitage's back, pulling him ever-so-slightly closer towards his radiating warmth. He goes without resistance.

“Well, Armitage,” Kylo whispers, voice barely audible above the rain. “Would you like to test it out?”

Armitage pushes the other man against the wall and slams their mouths together.

Kylo laughs, a deep bass rumble that rolls off his chest. So much like the thunder from the storm.

“ _There you are_ ,” his voice says in his head, silver water in his mind. It is cool, welcoming. “ _You like the noises I make? Then indulge a little_.”

Complying, Armitage takes Kylo's bottom lip into his mouth, sucks on it, smears his make-up as he slides his hand under Kylo's robe to grasp one generous thigh. Kylo moans wantonly, as theatrically as Armitage expected. His body becomes movable, pliant, arms and body going lax, and Armitage nearly has to pin him in place to keep him from sliding down the wet wall to become another puddle on the ground.

Armitage smirks, and rests an arm behind the other man's head in an effort to cushion him. “What's the matter, Senator Amidala?” he teases, sliding one knee between Kylo's legs. All decorum, all pretense of it at least is gone, replaced by the wild rutting of his Academy years. “A little _indulgence_ a bit much for your Nabooan sensibilities?”

The answering laugh Kylo gives is breathy and gasped as Armitage slowly begins to rub and bounce his knee between his gold leggings. “Oh Senator _Hux_ ,” he says with a particularly heavy moan, managing to still look predatory while exposing his throat to Armitage for easy access. “You should have guessed by now...”

Firm hands reposition themselves on Armitage's hips, yet Kylo's remain by his sides. Armitage's breath hitches, stutters, as he feels another caress the back of his neck, another slide between his thighs.

“I _always_ overindulge,” Kylo murmurs into his ear.

Behind them, the thunder rumbles its approval.

* * *

Armitage doesn't reconvene with his father that evening.

Nor does he pay him more mind than he absolutely needs to the following morning, pretending at busying himself with being as gracious a host as possible.

By the time they've sat down for breakfast the old Imperial is livid. He doesn't hide it well, though he thinks he does. He is as straight-backed and well-mannered as ever: but there's a harder set to his jaw, a sting to his words, an unpleasant curl to his lips when he addresses his son.

The Senators and other guests say nothing out of common decency. Armitage can only guess what slight they must imagine he has commit to put Brendol in such a mood; he hopes they believe it to be a petty thing.

Leia Organa _knows_ something.

Armitage doesn't think she's privy to the story of his and Kylo's storm-blessed rendezvous. Not in its entirety at least. But there's a look to her eyes, _that_ look, the clever glint that Kylo gets when he's figured something out, whether by his damned sorcery or some other wily trickery.

He must have inherited it.

“I've heard a rumor that you wish to reinstate the Arkanis Academy,” she prompts without pretense, and Armitage prides himself for not immediately choking on his tea. Further down the table, across from him, and to his left, his father fails to stop his face from turning several shades darker.

“And what are you implying?” Lady Carise snaps at his side before he can set his cup down. The conversations of those closest to them has not stopped, but has quieted to a dull murmur.

Armitage holds his hand up in a placating manner. “It's alright, Lady Carise. I'm sure Senator Organa means no offense.” He turns to Organa and gives a polite nod. “It is true...in a way. I'm not sure who your sources are-I'll admit that I've kept this only among relevant parties for now, so as not to cause wild speculation-but I do wish to allow for the creation of a new Arkanis Academy, yes. But it would fall under the jurisdiction of the New Republic Defense Force.”

He has to restrain himself from meeting Kylo's eyes. The man in question sits far down from him, across and to the right, shoulder-to-shoulder with Thadlé Bereneko. It is too risky to chance a glance down his way.

Still, Armitage feels a pleasant sensation in his mind, like fingers massaging his scalp. A request for entry. He obliges.

 _Wasn't me_ , is all that is said before the feeling departs.

“Of course, of course,” Organa says with a small smile, clasping her hands together. “Forgive me Senator Hux-I know how that sounds. But as you said, I meant no offense. I was just curious.”

“Understandable. As I said, I had tabled such discussion for the present-but only so that I could present it once I felt the Senate had once again retained stability and unity,” he offered. It isn't a _complete_ lie-Armitage's views differed vastly from his father's in that he thought it easier to re-establish the academy with the Republic's help. Whether it was utilized in the way they would wish.

Well.

“Makes sense considering the-ah-'implications' as you say, such a motion might have. Please forgive me, but I assume you're mostly familiar with Imperial military installations?”

Armitage immediately stiffens and regrets it, fighting to relax his shoulders. “Senator Organa, I hardly see how that's-”

“You'll have to forgive me again, Senator Hux,” Organa says, giving a placating smile. “I only meant to offer an invitation. If you plan to have Arkanis join the New Republic Defense Force, perhaps you'd like to tour our Academy on Chandrila? After all, you've been more than hospitable to us, and I'm sure Mr. Dameron would love to show you around.”

To her left the ace Republic pilot looks up from where he's devouring his pile of eggs and flashes Armitage a thumbs-up.

“That would be most kind, thank you,” Armitage replies, giving the man a small smile before returning his attention to Organa. “We've been isolated from much of the goings-on of the New Republic since its creation. It's allowed us to keep much of our culture, but left us struggling,” he says with a touch of remorse. “I think it's perhaps time we expanded our horizons.”

He finds himself surprised that he mostly means it.

Though the conversation around them has mostly picked up again, he can hear the aggressive clang of Brendol's silverware over the din of voices.

“I couldn't agree with you more,” Organa replies, and steals a quick-but knowing-glance in Brendol's direction.

 _Oh_.

(“- _like his damnable mother-”_ )

Of course. Organa wouldn't _need_ other sources when she could get the information herself, and he's certain his father's mind is an easy read.

“My son mentioned you have a love for the sciences and art. Naboo and its many universities is a shining example of both disciplines,” she continues, unperturbed. “I'll talk to him about giving you a tour. I'm sure you could even stay at our family estate while planet-side. Old thing hardly sees use. Heavens knows my son should entertain some company from time-to-time.”

To his right-a cough. He does hazard a glance this time. Kylo apologizes to Bereneko, daintily padding his mouth his his napkin to attempt to cover his embarrassment. Today his hair is braided, twined together in a multitude of strands with gold ribbons adorned with jewels.

Armitage has to pull his gaze away.

Abruptly his father stands up from the table, excuses himself. His face is liver-colored, his body shaking. After a beat, Lady Carise excuses herself as well, and Armitage is left alone with Organa and her flustered son, and the sudden swell in conversation at Brendol's abrupt exit.

Oddly, he finds he doesn't mind.

* * *

One month later and he arrives on Chandrila to take Senator Organa up on her offer.

Of course, after the 'stunt' he had pulled on his home-world, his father trusted him about as far as he could throw him-which wasn't very far, given Brendol's age and state, though he made quite the effort as soon as the rest of the Senate had departed.

(Armitage suspects would have finally lost it and murdered him if he had caught sight of the marks beneath his collar. But he was too careful to let that happen.)

And so Brendol, still livid at his son's 'forgetfulness' to report and 'fraternization' with Senator Organa, sends Lady Carise Sindian to shadow his every move.

It is an unfortunate thing. Armitage had half-hoped his father would send Tritt Opan instead. After all, the man was extremely talented at espionage. He also happened to be on Armitages payroll, a fact he was certain the old man had yet to entirely catch on to. But whether out of stupidity, or some growing suspicion, he has opted against sending the spy.

Luckily, he also sends Phasma.

“Careful,” she chides him as the shuttle enters Chandrila's atmosphere. Carise is absent from his side, giving them a brief reprieve-she has found it more pertinent to berate one of the shuttle's crew for his poor decorum when addressing her.

“With what?” he asks, coyly, playing at straightening his black collar. His uniform is in impeccable shape.

Beside him Phasma huffs-a rare laugh. “Your father may be an idiot, but he'll catch on to you and Amidala eventually.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, half out of fear, half out of curiosity. He makes as if to pick a piece of lint from the overcoat's pearl trim.

“Hm,” Phasma begins, as if thinking how to answer. That shows promise, at least.

“Obvious enough to those of us who know your tastes,” she responds after a minute, during which Armitage has near fervently examined every inch of his attire. “And his mother. Even then, I think Brendol would sooner suspect you betraying him only for power, rather than for-”

“Oh that's _quite enough_ of that,” Armitage finally snaps, cutting off whatever crude remark she had intended. The Paranossian has the gall to smirk at him and _wink_ , and if he wasn't red before, he most certainly matches his hair now. He hopes it will fade before landing.

“Anyway,” she continues, as if she hadn't just made some lewd (if true) insinuation “I'm not sure exactly what you're playing at. I half think you don't know yourself.” Phasma levels a look down at him. She's out of the chromium armor for once, substituting it for a silver dress-suit-but somehow looks no less regal nor deadly than when geared for combat.

“I like you, Armitage. And I can't say that about many people. So whatever you do, do so carefully.”

Armitage holds her gaze for longer than is strictly necessary. It's the most intimate Phasma's ever been with him. The most intimate, he suspects, she's ever been with most people, and he's caught up in the sentimentality of it all.

Lady Carise's approaching voice breaks his gridlock, and he nods. “I'm always careful.”

* * *

Their visit is, for the most part, uneventful.

Dameron (“Poe, just call me Poe!”) shows them around the academy with an enthusiastic fervor that Armitage can't help but find oddly endearing.

He has to admit: the installation is a breath of fresh air from the stuffy Imperial operations he had grown up with. While he is rather perturbed with the seeming absence of a rigid command structure, it is undeniable that the morale and camaraderie on display here far out-classes the blind adherence to authority.

The people here fight because they _want_ _to_ , not because they _fear not to_ , and Armitage recognizes that as a powerful thing, where his father would not.

It is why, he realizes, despite their numbers and firepower, and every other advantage, the Empire and all of its offshoots could never hold ground indefinitely. They failed to adapt, to instill any actual sense of loyalty in their troops.

It is a foolish, shameful thing.

Organa meets them again at a hanger, bustling with training drills and other activity.

“I trust Dameron has treated you well?”

“Oh, quite,” Armitage answers, glancing back to where the pilot is currently-and almost serendipitously-managing to distract the normally hawk-eyed Carise Sindian. Phasma, for her part, has edged away from the pair of Senators to chat with a raven-haired X-wing pilot. The Aurebesh on her helmet reads “Pava”.

Organa leans in close. “I know that _I_ find having my every move watched exhausting,” she says, with a nod towards Lady Carise. “My son has confirmed he'd be more than happy to have you visit. I'll get you the personal call-sign to enter the airspace over the Naberrie Estate undisturbed.” There's that mischievous glint in her eye. “I am meeting with Senator Casterfo in two weeks time after my nomination hearing to discuss some...important matters. It will take some time. The Lady has also made it her business, and would be unable to accompany you anywhere should you have need of her.”

“I'll...keep that in mind, Senator,” Armitage replied, composing himself as Carise finally makes her way over to the pair, having shaken Dameron and his distraction.

“Ah, Lady Carise,” Organa begins, offering the other woman a smile. It does not reach her eyes. “Senator Hux and I were just discussing the possibility of a foundling program of sorts. If Arkanis wishes to establish its own Academy under New Republic ordinances, it may be beneficial to have a few prospective staff come to our facility first.”

“Intriguing,” Lady Carise says, face neutral. It is obvious they hold no love for each other. “Now, if you'll excuse us, I do believe-”  
  
“Pardon the interruption, Lady Carise,” Armitage says suddenly, an idea forming. He turns back to Organa. “The woman that accompanied me. Phasma. Speak with her. I believe she knows someone. He's young if I understand correctly, barely a man-but very capable. I think he would benefit from the program you have here.”

“I see,” Organa says. “And what might his name be?”

“I do not know him well enough to be privy to it, but I believe his call-sign is 'Eight-Seven'.”

* * *

His father requests a meeting with him shortly before the hearing to confirm Organa's nomination for First Senator.

Armitage walks into his father's office to find the man alone, nursing a scotch, gazing over the star-lit view offered by the wall-to-wall transparisteel.

It's so oddly serene it gives him pause.

Brendol turns and glances at him over one shoulder, giving a nod to signify to close the door. Armitage does so and, folding his hand behind his back, joins his father at the view-port.

The old man grunts, clears his throat, looks down at the scotch in his hand. “You've done well, Armitage.”

Armitage blinks. Swallows. “I-thank you, General.”

Brendol scoffs. “Cut the 'General' shit. And take a seat. Have a drink.”

He doesn't move. It feels unreal, like a trap. His father whips his head in his direction and he finally complies, pouring himself some of the vile drink and settling down in an armchair. Brendol follows shortly, plopping down across from him heavily.

“Supreme Leader Snoke is pleased with your work,” his father begins. “Despite the hiccups,” he adds as a cut, no doubt in reference to Armitage's missed meeting. “Says we have the boy right where we want him-whatever the hell that means-all that matters to me is he's assured us that our next move will destabilize the New Republic.”

Armitage's brow furrows. “Our next move?”

Brendol regards him over his scotch. It is a cunning look, one that says he knows something, but so unlike the look of Kylo or his mother. It is cold. Vile.

“It's nothing you need to worry about boy,” he says with faux-reassurance. “Carise has been instructed on what to do. You'll find out soon enough.” He raises his drink. “To the First Order.”

* * *

  
  
Armitage's ears ring, his vision blurs, and he struggles to keep his world from spinning as Ransolm Casterfo makes his angered proclamation in front of the entire Senate.

And then everything erupts into chaos.

“ _Darth Vader_? Anakin Skywalker was _Darth Vader_?”

“Then she is his daughter. Her blood is tainted. She cannot-”

“Amidala as well.”

But Armitage has tuned them out. His eyes search through the rioting crowd, looking for the one thing he cares about in this moment.

The Senate seat for Naboo-

Is empty.

* * *

The call-sign Organa had given him lets him into the hanger without a hitch.

Kylo's ship is there.

The Naberrie estate is dark, and hauntingly empty.

Armitage runs through the unfamiliar halls, feeling as though he's on limited time, calling out Kylo's name.

He needs to find him, and soon. He can't explain why. But there's a dark web of a presence here. Gray, dead, spider-like.

( _Like Snoke_.)

When he finds Kylo he's surrounded by parts and components that in any normal circumstance would pique Armitage's interest, but instead all he can focus on is the crystal in his hand, the crystal of _Kyber_ , and the pure anger and loathing radiating off of the man like crashing waves.

The rest of the room is choking with the dark presence.

Armitage Hux doesn't pretend to comprehend what is happening. But he understands manipulation. And he's seen people pass the point of no return.

“Kylo-” he shouts and grabs for his hands, attempting to rip the crystal from them.

Everything happens at once.

Kylo's eyes snap open.

(There's a burning and an anger and ' _they lied it hurts it hurts_ ' and ' _oh god oh Armitage oh why are you here oh now I'm hurting you too_ ' and a smothering darkness and an ' **INSOLENT, FOOLISH CHILD, HOW DARE YOU MEDDLE IN THIS** ' and then he's choking he can't breathe and his father's hands are at his throat and “ _no, no, what are you doing, don't hurt him, why are you hurting him,_ _ **LET HIM GO**_ ” and an inhuman scream pierces the darkness as it is pushed away in a wave of silver starlight...)

The Kyber crystal hits the carpet, and Armitage gasps.

He's laid against the floor, head cradled in Kylo's lap. Above them, the transparisteel ceiling shows stars.

“Armitage,” Kylo whispers. “Oh Armitage, I'm so sorry.”

With a groan and no little amount of effort, Armitage sits himself up, despite the other man's protests, until they're kneeling face to face. Without hesitation, he reaches for Kylo, takes his face in his hands. “Are you alright?”

Kylo gives a dry laugh. “No. Not really. I-.” He swallows.

“Kylo-”

“It was right. That voice was right. Vader was my grandfather. I've always had darkness inside of me.” His tone is hushed, his voice shakes.

“Listen to me,” Armitage tries, shaking the man's face for effect. “Snoke. The Supreme Leader of the First Order. His name is Snoke. Does that name mean anything to you? Because I promise you Kylo, he is manipulating you.”

Dark eyes widen in shock, before hardening once more. “So what if it does? So what if he is? It hardly matters now.”

“It _does_ matter-”

“You don't understand,” Kylo snarls, voice raising. He jumps to his feet and Armitage follows. “When my uncle-when Luke _kriffing_ Skywalker sensed the darkness inside of me-he wanted to help me fight it, Armitage,” he spits, body trembling. “And do you know what I did?”

“I ran! I ran away and I-for a time there.” He rubs his face, sits down on the bed with a groan. For a while he says nothing.

“There's a gang. Call themselves the Knights of Ren. Force users, like me. But renegades. Do-what-we-want types. And I joined up with them, for a while. Not officially. I could never give them the 'good death' they wanted, but for a while we-I...I did...some of the things we did...” he swallows, voice, distant, unable to finish. “How could you know what that's like?”

“I killed my first man when I was twelve.”

Kylo's eyes snap to meet his.

Armitage joins him on the bed. “I've killed people with no blood on their hands, rationalizing that it was for some greater good. I've helped my father rip children from their families, telling myself that he was somehow right, that they'd be better off with us than with the New Republic.”

“I'm not saying we're _good_ men,” Armitage says, wiping a stray tear from Kylo's face. “Far from it. We may even be bad men, though I suspect we'd have been much worse had circumstances been different. But Kylo. Believe me. Please.” He slides his fingers through raven locks, brings his face in close.

“People like my father. People like this Snoke. People I've been around my entire life that don't care the slightest for others. They are _vile_. And you-” he swipes a trembling thumb across Kylo's lips, locks eyes and says with the the utmost sincerity: “ _You_ are not vile. You are not like them, and never will be. And I won't let them have you.” _He's_ shaking now, vision crystallizing at the corners of his eyes in a kaleidoscope of light. There's a warmth there he hasn't felt since he was a small child. “I won't let them take your freedom from you. I won't let them take you from me you wild, beautiful boy.”

“I need you to know,” Kylo gasps against him, finally taking Armitage's face in his own large, warm hands. “I need you to know, and _believe_ , it too.” He's so _close_ as if he's trying to breathe him in, as if he can't bear to be apart from him. “You're not like them either. You never _were_ , Armitage.”

The warmth is sliding down his face now, leaving rivers in the freckled landscape of his face. “No,” he says, his voice sounding strangely choked, “I suppose I'm not.”

If the first kiss they shared was like a solar flare, this one is like a hearth: it is slow, unhurried. It is warm, and welcoming.

It feels like coming home.

Kylo falls back, slowly, guiding Armitage down with him. It feels weightless, like tumbling in zero-G. Kylo's hair fans out behind him in a ring, forming a circle around his head, adorning him in a dark celestial crown.

“I want to have you, Kylo Amidala” Armitage Hux says, his voice hushed but burning.

“Want you to have me,” Kylo whispers in reply. His voice is starlight, like the Force he wields.

They're slow to undress each other, purposeful. Kylo unbuttons Armitage's uniform as if ceremony, Armitage removes Kylo's clothes in ritual reverence. In the end, all that's remaining are the bangles on Kylo's arms, left in some unspoken agreement.

They leave constellations up and down each other's bodies with their mouths, burn comet trails into each other's skin with each stroke of their fingers. This isn't a treaty, it's not even a partnership: this is creation, chaos and energy given purpose and meaning to become something truly beautiful.

Time has no bearing here. At one point Kylo must have told Armitage where to find the oil, but he can hardly remember that now. Kylo is opening so exquisitely around his fingers, warm and pliant and velvety inside. The oil itself has a strange quality to it, heating Armitage's fingers and making them tingle pleasantly. Kylo's long legs pump up and down to either side of him, toes curling in pleasure and exertion as Armitage finally adds a third finger.

“Armitage please, please, please, want you closer, want to _ride_ you,” Kylo moans beneath him, dark eyes wild.

“Oh-oh sweet stars,” Armitage replies, and it is all he can do to remind himself to take things slow, to take his fingers from Kylo carefully before slicking himself up. He's instantly rewarded with a pleasant warmth and tingling sensation all along the length of his shaft, and he groans. Kylo surges up to meet his mouth as he does, tangling one hand in his hair while while the other joins Armitage's on his cock.

Armitage's back meets the darkened wood of the headboard and they come up for air. They're still for a moment. Starlight streams in from the window above, illuminating the waves of Kylo's hair, the moles and freckles on his body, every mark and forming bruise Armitage has sucked into his skin.

He's beautiful, powerful, something he never thought he could have, never thought he deserved, and he is giving himself over freely and completely.

There's a familiar feeling running down his spine, at the back of his mind, and he lets it in without a second thought, lets _Kylo_ in willingly and gratefully. He knows, somehow, that it will be different this time, unlike anything he has ever experienced before. But he is not afraid.

The world around him glows, erupts in motes of light, and Armitage _sees_ , and _hears_ , and _feels_. He can _see_ the vibrations of the starlight, _hear_ the silk of the sheets, _feel_. _Feel_ Kylo. Feel him so utterly that it is suddenly near _unbearable_ to him that he'll be unable to have this when it's all over, and he feels like weeping, but settles for clutching at his lover instead.

“Is this how it is for you all the time?” Armitage gasps, holding onto Kylo as the man in his lap straddles him.

“Not like this. Not this intense, this bright,” Kylo moans, centering himself. He locks eyes with Armitage. Sepia meets malachite.

“You. You make me like this. I feel stronger when I'm with you.”

Kylo sinks down slowly, one arm braced against Armitage's shoulders while the other grips his shaft. Armitage holds his hips, guides him down slowly, does all he can to restrain himself from bucking up and sheathing himself fully into the heat taking him in. It's difficult, especially when Kylo looks like this: eyelids fluttering, plush bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

Beautiful.

Finally, limbs shaking, Kylo comes to rest fully on Armitage's lap. They lean against one another for a time, Kylo's face buried against Armitage's neck, neither saying a word. They don't have to.

The world around them shimmers.

Slowly, Kylo draws himself up then down, gasping at the feeling of being filled back up. He does this once, twice, thrice before Armitage gives an experimental roll of his hips, thrusting up as Kylo comes down. His lover's momentum stutters, hips snapping erratically and eyes blowing wide, nearly black.

Armitage thinks for a moment it is too much, but Kylo inhales sharply, and presses their foreheads together. He bears down again, a silent permission to continue.

They find their rhythm, rocking against each other. Armitage thinks of waves, like the oceans of Arkanis, or maybe Naboo. The bangles on Kylo's wrists jump and knock together, singing in harmony with the noises of their love making.

Feeling _him_ , feeling _them_ , the whole that they make, the entirety, Armitage understands now why others have tried so hard to isolate them, and can feel that Kylo understands it too. Together they feel complete, and this completion is absolute and intoxicating and powerful.

Words tumble from his mouth, unbidden.

“You make me believe in myself,” he pants in between kisses. “What I am. More assuredly than any other person or position has. And I want to give you everything for that. To never leave you wanting again. Ask, and I'll give you the stars.”

“Armitage Hux,” Kylo gasps against his lips. “You silly man. All I want is you. I love you.”

Armitage chokes and doesn't reply. Can't. But he doesn't need to. The feeling in the air-the feeling of _Kylo_ tells him that he knows. Has known for a while.

Armitage take him in hand, strokes him in time with their thrusts. Kylo comes with his name on his lips and-

( _-everything is bright and loud and warm and so, so much but not quite enough and he's clinging, clinging to Kylo and thrusting, Kylo's gentle word's of encouragement in his ear, and suddenly everything coalesces into a bright point of light-_ )

When everything is clear once more it is quiet. Kylo lies on top of him, resting against his chest. Armitage plants a gentle kiss in his hair. Kylo hums, snuggles up closer beneath his chin, and Armitage winds his arms around his frame, holding him close.

Infinity stretches out before them. Leia Organa will lose the nomination, yes-and Brendol Hux will die under mysterious circumstances soon thereafter.

After that? The possibilities are endless.

Armitage feels Kylo's hand seek his own, find it, twine their fingers together.

Whatever happens, they won't be alone.

Outside the sky rumbles, and there is rain.


End file.
